Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

by Heather Heyford

  “No. You know what I mean. A moment of...” Desperately he sought the words that would make her understand. “Vulnerability. You made me feel vulnerable.”

  “How did I do that?”

  “By being so, damn, nice!”

  Pain filled her eyes.

  “When you apologized for rushing me to talk about things. For using that stupid sex technique.”

  “So I’m not supposed to be nice to you?”

  “Yes! No! I don’t know.”

  “Well,” she huffed, rising, her arms at her sides, “thanks for making that perfectly clear.”

  “I offered you the house in a moment of weakness, and it’s been bothering me all week and I didn’t say anything, thinking I’d figure out how to deal with it when the time came and not wanting to mess things up between us. And now I realize I can’t do it. It’s like I said back in the beginning. I hate it there. I don’t want to back go there any more. And if you’re there, I won’t have any choice.”

  Red looked around the room. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought the better of it and closed it. Then she paced a few feet and stopped. “I don’t know what to say, Sam. You got me so excited. I’ve told everybody. I’m going to feel like such a fool when I tell them it’s not happening.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “What happened there that you can’t get over? Whatever it is, it’s in the past. We can talk it through. I’ll help you. I’ll help you get past it.”

  “It’s my house,” he said, his voice cracking like an adolescent choirboy’s, “and I can do what I want with it. You want a relationship? This is the only way.”

  In a flat voice, she said, “I’ll never understand you, Sam Owens.”

  Sam mitigated his guilt by snapping at her.“Get in line.”

  For a long moment, Red just stood there and stared at him, dry-eyed.

  Then she threw up her hands. “You know what? This too hard. I’m through.”

  And with that, she turned and walked out of his office and out of his life, leaving behind nothing but two bowls of tomato soup.

  Chapter 32

  The morning after Red walked out on him, Sam picked up his phone, expecting it to be the Lafayette grower he was trying to persuade to join the consortium.

  But instead, the display said Woodcrest.

  Probably calling to tell him about the new diagnosis.

  He put the phone on speaker and continued browsing his computer.

  “Sam Owens.”

  “Mr. Owens? We’re going to have to ask that you come and get your father.”

  His hands stilled on the keyboard. The Dad problem was over. He wasn’t going backward now. Only forward.

  He sat back. “What do you mean, come get him? It’s taken care of. He has dementia. It’s confirmed.”

  “I’m aware of that.”’

  He felt his anger, always just under the surface, rising. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I’m afraid your father has been harassing the other residents. There’s been some unwelcome touching, even groping. Last night he accosted a woman in the elevator.”

  Sam sat up straight. When did players stop playing? At what age would the old goat finally call it quits?

  “What do you mean, accosted?”

  “Held Mrs. Piccolo against a wall and kissed her. The victim’s husband has threatened to press assault charges. Ironically, the dementia diagnosis came just in time. Without that, his complaint might have had legs.”

  He grabbed his phone, taking it off speaker as he rose from his desk and went to the window. “I’ll call my Dad and talk to him.”

  “That won’t work. We had to confiscate his phone.”

  “What?”

  “The fire department called and said Mr. Owens has been calling them repeatedly, complaining that he was being mistreated. The police, too. To be honest, that’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Nevertheless, you understand why we couldn’t let it continue.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “That’s right, it won’t, because he can’t stay here.”

  Sam ran a hand through his hair.

  He had to stay there. He couldn’t possibly come home. If Sam followed through with the plan that was becoming rooted in his mind, there would be no more ‘home.”

  “Look. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s beyond that. For the well-being of our other residents, I have no choice but to ask you to remove him.”

  “But there’s no place else for him to go.”

  A heavy sigh in the phone. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to locate something.”

  “This isn’t right. You can’t just kick him out. I’m going to talk to my attorney.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll need to hear back from you within twenty-four hours.”

  “Twenty-four hours? How do you expect me to find a place in that amount of time? You can’t do that. There has to be a law.”

  “We’re a private facility, Mr. Owens. The well-being of our residents and staff is our highest priority. Imagine if the situation was reversed. If it were someone else, harassing your father. How long would you tolerate that?”

  “Can’t you confine him to his room or something?”

  “That’s neither practical nor humane.”

  Of course it wasn’t. What was wrong with him?

  Sam hung up, mind racing. What did people do in these circumstances? He couldn’t take Dad back to the saltbox. And the old consortium wasn’t an option. It had only the one small bedroom. Besides, there was nothing for Dad to do there all day while Sam was at work. Somewhere there had to be another facility that would take him. But not with a mere twenty-four hours’ notice.

  Dad needed help.

  What to do? He was supposed to be this master manipulator. But no amount of physical dangers, high-threat, clandestine meetings, or the psychological burdens of extreme loneliness and detachment had prepared him to take care of an aging parent.

  He had never come up against anything like this. He spoke high school Spanish, a little Russian, and was fluent in Arabic, but he couldn’t speak medicalese. He needed someone who could. He needed professional help.

  * * * *

  When Red saw who was calling, she turned back to the medical history she was reviewing.

  Sam could call her all he wanted. She wasn’t going to respond.

  When the call finally went to voice mail, she breathed a sigh of relief, shook her head, and went back to her chart.

  Seconds later, it rang again.

  “I’m not talking to you,” she spat to the phone. She needed fewer problems in her life, not more.

  She tried to concentrate on the referral on her computer screen. Patient is a thirty-nine-year-old female with hypertension and hypercholesterolemia. She is not having any trouble with her medications.

  A thought needled her. What if something was really wrong?

  The third time, she snatched it on the first ring.

  “What part of we’re through don’t you understand?”

  “You’ve got to help me, Doc. He’s not going back to that house. I’m not taking him back. It’s not an option.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean? I thought it was settled. He has dementia. He needs twenty-four hour supervision.”

  “kicked him out.”

  She clutched the phone while Sam explained the events that had transpired since George’s diagnosis had been handed down.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do. It’s out of my hands. I have no pull at Woodcrest. I’ve only been there a short while.”

  “You can talk to them. You speak their language.”

  “Woodcrest is not the proble
m. The problem is your father.”

  “Talk to him, then. Try to talk some sense into him.”

  “It sounds as though it’s too late for that. A decision has already been made.”

  “I can’t go back to the way it used to be. Do you hear me?”

  “You have to understand that Woodcrest has their reputation to safeguard. Word gets around that residents are being groped in the hallways and they’re not doing anything about it, there’s going to be a stink.”

  “Talk to him. Please. Go over and talk to Dad.”

  She snorted. “I have a full slate today. I can’t just walk out on my patients.”

  “After work, then. Just talk to them, will you? Buy me some time. Talk to Dad. See if you can figure out what’s going through the son of a bitch’s head. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  She sighed.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” She could hear his relief through the phone.

  “I’m not making any promises.”

  “I understand. Just let me know the minute you have news.”

  Chapter 33

  Red walked her last patient to the door and checked her watch. As usual, her day was ending later than she’d planned.

  Before leaving for Woodcrest to see what she could do about Sam’s dad, she took a final glimpse at her planner.

  Oh, no. She’d completely forgotten her appointment at Curl Up & Dye. She and Junie were getting their nails done, and Junie was doing a trial run of her wedding hair and wanted Red’s opinion.

  She sighed.

  There was no getting around it. The wedding was mere days away.

  She ought to call Sam, but she was already late. And frankly, she was still angry with him.

  She pressed her fingertips into the nape of her aching neck. How long had she been holding herself tight as a drum?

  Trying to reach between her shoulder blades by herself was useless. She propped her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands. She felt pulled in all directions. Her patients, Sam, Junie… She felt compelled to solve all their problems.

  Maybe she was a little too self-sacrificing.

  She forced herself to breathe. At least she didn’t need an appointment at Woodcrest, thanks to her professional status. She would just have to get there when she could get there.

  She got up, gathered her things, and rushed down the street to meet Junie.

  Her aesthetician was waiting at the reception desk. “There you are.”

  “Sorry I’m late. Is my friend Junie Hart here?”

  “Is that the bride-to-be? She’s back with Steph. She should be out soon. Want to get started?”

  Red’s hands were slathered in moisturizer and enclosed in plastic mitts when Jordan came over.

  “And how is Dr. McDonald this evening?”

  “Please, call me Red. Everyone else does. Last time I talked to Keval, you two were on your way to Portland. Did you have a good time?”

  “A great time.”

  “So…” Dare she ask? “Did he invite you to the wedding?”

  “He did.”

  Red felt her face light up. That was the best news she’d heard in a while. At least someone was happy. But how ironic. Now Keval had a date and she didn’t.

  “But I had to say no.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell again.

  “I forgot. I already had a thing.”

  Red’s lips pressed together. “I see.”

  It seemed she and Keval were fated to go to that wedding together.

  Junie came walking out from behind a partition, followed by her stylist.

  “You like?” She struck a pose.

  Junie’s jaw dropped.

  Where was Junie’s braid? Her hair waved softly along her shoulders. And what was that on her face? Makeup?

  “You look fantastic. Your skin…your eyes. That shadow makes them pop.”

  Junie grinned while her stylist held an errant strand in place and shellacked it with enough spray to hold it until Junie’s first anniversary.

  “Am I done?” Junie asked the stylist.

  Having gotten permission, she plopped down next to Red.

  “I’ll be right back. Need some fresh towels,” said the aesthetician.

  “How was your day? How’s Sam?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know his dad’s at Woodcrest.”

  “Manny told me. It’s so sad.”

  “Well, it’s not working out. Sam has to find another place for him, and he asked me to help. The thing is, he only has until tomorrow, and I’m not sure what I can do in that short a time.”

  “Sam could take him to his place.”

  “He could, as a last resort. You’ve been in the old consortium. It’s not even conducive to Sam living there, let alone his elderly father. There’s only one bedroom, and no real living room.”

  “What about his old house? The one in the country?”

  Red sighed. “Sam is adamant that he can’t go back there.”

  Junie nodded. “Manny said something about that, too. Something about how Sam wished he could burn it to the ground.”

  Red frowned. “What did you say?”

  “Not really,” she hastened to add. “It was right after his Dad’s accident with the fireplace. He was frustrated. You know how people talk. Especially guys. Especially former, so-called badasses.” She laughed to assuage Red’s look of concern.

  The manicurist dashed back into her seat across from Junie and began removing her old polish.

  Stuck with her fingers and toes being worked on for the next hour, Red had plenty of time to think.

  And to worry.

  Chapter 34

  Somehow, Sam made it through the work day. Finally, five o’clock came. He stayed at the office, tying up loose ends, trying not to watch the clock.

  Six o’clock came.

  His office had never looked neater. He was at a loss for what to do. He could eat, but he had no appetite.

  Seven o’clock.

  Seven-thirty.

  At seven-forty-five, he broke down and tried to call Red.

  When she didn’t answer, he gazed unseeing out the window and cursed under his breath.

  He had to face the fact that he’d have to go get his dad. He would find a new place for him, somehow. Woodcrest wasn’t the only assisted living center in Oregon. But it wouldn’t happen overnight.

  The question was what to do with him in the meantime.

  He grabbed his keys and headed out.

  “Where are you off to in such a rush?” asked Keval.

  “Something I got to do.”

  In the old consortium, he ran to his room, to ready it for Dad to use until he could find him something better.

  He changed the sheets, emptied the top two drawers of the dresser of his clothes to make room for Dad’s. He bent to straighten the throw rug, and when he did, the older of his two duffel bags under the bed caught his eye. He paused, then hoisted it out onto the blanket. The day he packed it came back to him. It was in the midst of a raging haboob, seven thousand miles away from the soft, moist air of the Pacific Northwest.

  He was twenty-two and already a seasoned combat veteran, on his way home. He’d sworn he had vanquished his demons and was done with the Army. Hatched a plan to finish school, start a business and a normal life.

  But no sooner had he graduated than he found himself sitting for the Officer’s Candidate School exam, to go back in as a lieutenant at age twenty-five.

  Some people never learned. They just kept repeating the same mistakes.

  He blew the dust off and undid the drawstring. He’d been required to turn in his service weapons, rifle-cleaning kit, hydration har
ness, and sniper mat, to be reassigned to the next guy. They let him keep his logbook, though. He cradled the spine and let it fall open at random to his KIAs. Like he needed reminding. One thing no marksman ever forgot was his number of kills.

  He draped the patriotically striped ribbons across his palm and stared at the three Bronze Stars earned for displaying exceptional courage under fire and reducing risk of harm to coalition troops.

  Inside, emotions bubbled and gurgled ominously, like an underground volcano.

  He thumbed to his Evaluation and Counseling Record. Most of his marks were “average” and “above-average,” except in the categories of Professional Knowledge and Quality of Work. In those, he was ranked “exceptional.”

  Time was running out.

  He only had until tomorrow morning.

  He knew his dad. He would insist on going back to the old house. But he couldn’t be left alone. Sam would be forced to stay there with him, or hire someone who would, in which case he would still have to check in regularly to be sure he was being properly taken care of.

  That is, unless there was no house left to go back to.

  Chapter 35

  Woodcrest’s director agreed to talk with Red before she interviewed George.

  “We always regret having to ask a resident to leave, but in George Owens’s case, we have no choice. We can’t jeopardize the safety and well-being of our other residents and staff. He’s bothering women at dinner and during social functions. Pawing them, trying to kiss them. The elevator incident was the last straw. I can’t even allow you to meet with him alone. I don’t want the liability. I’m going to have one of our male associates accompany you.”

  Red called Sam as she slapped down the hall, still wearing her disposable salon flip-flops, toward the room where she counseled patients.

  He picked up on the first ring.

  “Are you still in your office?”

  “Yeah.”

  His terse response was freighted with tension.

  “I spoke with the director. But they won’t budge on the issue of your dad leaving.”

  There was a brief pause while Sam came to grips with that fact. “What am I going to do, Red?”